


The Country Cottage

by celluloidbroomcloset



Category: The Avengers (TV)
Genre: F/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 23:42:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9465830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celluloidbroomcloset/pseuds/celluloidbroomcloset
Summary: Steed and Mrs. Peel get away to Steed's country cottage for the weekend.





	

It was raining when they left the pub, and they had no umbrella. Steed, the man who carried an umbrella everywhere and the one time he actually needed it, he’d left it in the chintzy holder by the front door of the cottage. It wasn’t supposed to rain tonight, he said, and she knew that meant that it would.

They were soaked before they had gone two yards, shirts clinging to backs, shoes flooded with water. If Emma had had less to drink, she might have been annoyed. She wasn’t drunk, far from it, but the wine at dinner and the whisky after gave her a warm, electrical sense of the world around her. She felt happy and warm, in lust, in love, and soaked to the skin. She felt alive. She looked at Steed. The skin showed through his wet silk shirt and the water dripped down his face, and she felt more alive than ever.

He wasn’t the one who pulled them into the barn. A few more steps and they would have been at the cottage’s stone walk, but she grabbed his collar and guided him – more forcibly than was perhaps necessary. They stumbled in, shivering, grinning, and Emma plastered her mouth onto his before he could recover and ask why. She sucked his bottom lip, her fingers already worrying at his belt. Then Steed’s hands went to her shoulders and he seized her, holding her back.

“You’re drunk,” he said.

“I’m not. I had two glasses of wine and one whisky,” she replied.

It wasn’t fair for him to put her off like this. His shirt clung to him in all the right places, showing white skin covering tight muscle. The water had made his hair very damp, ruffled over his face. This was no time to be a gentleman, not when he was looking so attractive.

“No interest in comfort?” he asked, beginning to smile.

“None.” She succeeded in undoing his belt, her fingers brushing over the growing bulge beneath. “Stop trying to be a gentleman.”

“I’m always a gentleman.”

“A gentleman does not deny a lady. Unless…” she looked up at him. “He doesn’t want to?”

Steed’s snort told her all she needed to know. The next kiss was, if possible, more aggressive than the first, as he forced her mouth open to admit him, tongue pressing against hers. The rain beat down outside, increasing in ferocity, a perfect complement to the press of his chest against hers as he walked her back against the barn wall. She had no further to go, and then he was lifting her, pushing his groin up against her so that she could feel its unreal hardness. She could picture him, erect against his trousers, and was immediately lost in the fantasy. She fumbled again with his buttons and fly, gasped when he pushed her underwear to the side and touched her.

“Vixen,” he growled into her mouth. His favorite word for her at times like this –she liked the word, sexual, sensual without accusation.

“I’ve wanted you all day,” he continued, thrusting two fingers. “I wanted to take you and fuck you in the back room of the pub.”

Emma laughed and moaned at the same time as his fingers curled and wiggled. Steed almost never swore, either in anger or in lust, but those moments when he spoke out of character were delightful, dangerous.

“Why didn’t you?” she said.

Steed drew back his head. “Chivalry did not permit.”

“Then fuck me here,” she said, emphasizing every word.

He gave growl and a moan, and kissed her again with the same animal aggression. She didn’t know how it happened, but she felt him, naked, pressing between her legs. She gave a thin cry when he penetrated her, and grasped his shoulders for support. The rain had slowed outside – she could hear it distantly, above Steed’s grunts as he thrust, above the sound of her back against the creaking wood of the barn. His breath hot against her neck, and all she could do was cling to him, She’d never been taken so thoroughly. He was possessing her body, bending her to his will. He kissed her and swallowed her moans, filling her mouth with his own. The intense, almost painful pleasure threatened to break her as she came, yet when he followed her, seconds after her orgasm broke, she heard him sob and knew that she had taken him too.

As erotic as an illicit encounter in a barn could be – oddly enough, not their first illicit encounter in a barn – it can also be very uncomfortable. As Steed lowered her back to the ground, she was aware of her very damp clothing, somewhat sore backside, and…well, the dampness did just get everywhere. He must have been aware of it too as he pulled out and moved carefully back, raising his trousers and zipping his fly. Perhaps not Lady Chatterly’s Lover, but then Lawrence must have been aware of the more impossible elements of his narrative. Emma slipped her hand into his as they made their way back to the cottage.


End file.
